Aftermath
by silberstreif
Summary: Universe: 'Till all are one' - "And Ironhide remembered why he had followed these two mechs into bloody battles and hopeless situations, into war and death and horror and eventually into peace. Even now, shackled and bound as they were, they had the ability to let him do the right thing. Just why had they themselves done the wrong thing so often?"
1. Ironhide

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and any recognisable character.

Beta: Starfire201 - thank you for your help.

Also thanks to pjlover666, whose encouragement kept me writing.

Warnings: Slight slash

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**Aftermath**

**1. Ironhide**

Ironhide didn't like this, and yet he knew what had to be done. He was a mech with clear principles and unshakeable loyalty to his Prime on whose orders he acted here. It was difficult to forget the pain in Optimus' optics as he had issued the order on behalf of the council, so that justice may be served and peace may be kept. It had to be done. It was just.

Still, it felt like betrayal.

"Sir?" asked an Enforcer behind him.

Ironhide looked at him. He was young, too young to remember the Great War, too young to truly understand why his superior looked as if walking to an execution.

"Sir, everyone is in place."

"Good."

From a neutral point of view, it was ridiculous to bring a whole special unit with 38 trained Enforcers with him, just for two mechs. Ironhide wasn't neutral by any definition and he knew exactly what those two mechs were capable of. He wished he could have brought more.

While checking his weapons, he turned back to the house in front of him. It was small and beautiful, peaceful even, situated next to a crystal field that was slowly recovering. Praxus was raising such fields everywhere for public enjoyment, but this special one seemed to be a private garden, with a small wall around it to keep strangers away. His mechs had ignored the boundary, and were now crouching behind the crystals. It would be a pity to see this garden destroyed.

Far away, he could already see curious citizens watching the spectacle. It was time.

"Howlback, Stungun, follow me."

The white door seemed to be normal, no strange holes or cracks. He pushed the button for the bell. No sign of weapons. Maybe he was just paranoid? Promptly, the door slid open and revealed a slightly smaller black and white mech with a blue visor, who smiled as he saw Ironhide:

"Ah, long time no see, Ironhide. Who are ya friends?"

It could be worse. Really, he could have attacked them, he could have been away, he could... and yet, Ironhide had the feeling that his spark was torn apart.

"Hello, Jazz. These are Stungun and Howlback. Can we come in?"

"Sure." He turned and walked into the house. "Do you want Energon?"

The three Enforcers entered the house, the door sliding close behind them. It was light inside, full of friendly colours and a few pieces of furniture. Neither of them had ever liked sentimental things.

"No, thank you, Jazz. I'm on the job." And he wouldn't put it above Jazz to have the cubes poisoned.

His old friend just shrugged. "As ya wish. Let's all go to the living room, 'kay? Prowl is already there and Ah don't think that ya're visiting 'cause ya missed us."

As always perceptive, even though it was kind of obvious. He could feel how tense his two subordinates were as they walked towards the living room. Prowl was sitting indeed there in a comfy armchair, as calm and regal as ever, his gaze resting contemplatively on a game of _Treck. _

It reminded Ironhide so much of scenes in various rec rooms in the past that he was thrown off for a moment. A dangerous mistake, though Jazz ignored his guests, as he strolled past them and took the armchair across from Prowl.

"You're still searching for a way to keep those two pieces?" he asked seemingly amused.

"Of course." Prowl looked up, directly at Jazz. "It's just a matter of how many sacrifices are acceptable."

"You're too fixated on them."

"I can't help it." Prowl looked at them. "Ironhide, it's wonderful to see you again. I've heard that you've achieved the rank of the head of all Enforcers. Congratulations."

"Thank you." He loved his job, just not today. "These are two of my most trusted lieutenants. Howlback, she's in charge of the special units and Stungun, a very good detective."

"Nice to meet you." Prowl stood and shook of each of them the hand. "Make yourself comfortable on the couch. How can we help you?"

Ironhide hesitated, but then both Jazz and Prowl were sitting. Stungun copied him, while Howlback kept standing as he expected. She was too unwilling to give up any advantage.

Prowl's question still hand in the room like a spectre. Time, to speak the blunt truth:

"Ah, well, the United Council and Optimus Prime have both issued an order to capture you and bring you back to Iacon for trial. You both will have to come with us."

He prayed that they wouldn't get angry, wouldn't blame him, wouldn't fight. Howlback shifted a bit aside, her hand near her weapon, while Stungun had ceased all movement. The caution was appropriate. These two black and white mechs were excellently trained, dangerous and he simply knew that this house had hidden corners and chambers with weapons. They were too paranoid not to have them. All this could get ugly so very, very fast.

Jazz and Prowl both nodded without a hint of surprise.

"'kay," said Jazz. "Are we allowed to take something with us? Maybe the game?"

Prowl glanced at the game. "I would appreciate it if we could end the game before we go. But it's not necessary."

The Enforcers gaped, then Stungun relaxed, his vents giving a deep sigh, and Howlback stood there with an expression of puzzlement. Ironhide wanted to grin. He should have known it. They never did what was expected of them.

"Well, you can certainly take a few things with you, but they have to be checked by Howlback here."

Howlback frowned. "As long as it's not too much."

Jazz smiled. "Don't worry, it's just the game, right Prowl?"

"Don't you want to take the book file you're reading, too?"

"Ah, yes, that's a good idea." Jazz smiled as he looked questioningly at Howlback. "A few book files and the game then. That 'kay?"

Howlback nodded shortly. If it were up to her, she would probably take them with nothing but their protoform, but she couldn't refuse. They were harmless enough things.

Stungun stood up. "Where are these book files? I'll collect them."

Good idea. So they wouldn't lose sight of them for a second. And as a detective he would take every chance to get a view around the house.

"Corridor, third door to the left," answered Jazz, while moving a piece on the game board. "Just take all the books on the desk."

"I will." And he left the room.

They waited quietly while Prowl and Jazz played. Not one word was spoken, and Ironhide felt his optics following the game. Prowl was winning, of course, but they didn't seem to play after the normal rules. Some pieces they didn't sacrifice even though Ironhide could see the strategical advantage, some pieces died far too easily. It took a while until he understood, that they had modified the game so, that the pieces got stronger or weaker if they won or lost, and that these data was kept for the next game. No wonder that they wanted to keep this special _Treck_ board.

Howlback informed the special units that the situation was under control and that the suspects weren't resisting.

Ironhide would bet his whole high-grade storage that at least Jazz had already hacked into every single communication line available, if not both of them. But they showed no sign of hearing her orders.

Shotgun came back with various book files and laid them onto the couch.

"Is that everything?" he asked.

"More than enough," answered Jazz and Ironhide wondered what he could mean. Didn't they expect to be in prison for long?

"You're taking all this better than I expected," he finally said.

"We do?" Prowl's wings fluttered, a sure sign that he was amused. "Why should we resist? We're just normal citizens, aren't we?"

Well, officially yes. They had a small architecture office together, a modest income and tried to live a quiet life. Tried to, because no one had really forgotten that these two had been Second and Third in Command on the Autobot side, and had been one of the most feared and respected bots in the war. The first time Ironhide had watched Decepticons talking about Jazz and Prowl with the same expression of amazed horror he had seen on Autobots talking about, say Starscream, he had been amused. But later he had felt shame, and no small amount of disquiet. The stories told rang far too true.

"Yes, you are," said Stungun with a hard voice. Maybe he remembered those stories, too.

But Prowl only nodded and glanced at the board, surprised at Jazz's next move. "That's a dangerous move."

"Maybe." And Jazz's smile was the same as for every dangerous mission, sharp, wicked, with a hint of exhilaration.

"You risk the two arms of the leader."

"The shield is still there, so are his followers. And ya forget, from this position he can't fight effectively."

Prowl nodded and then smiled. "So you risk them, to keep your whole side stable." He moved a few figures. "Too bad they're now surrounded and the shield is helpless. The leader will have to stand alone."

"He's a leader. Different rules, he's never alone." Jazz looked up after his next move of bringing the shield into a safer zone. "In the end the two arms are just pieces too, and they can be sacrificed."

"And so they are," agreed Prowl and attacked, obliterating first the two pieces, and then the whole board of Jazz's defence.

Jazz sighed and fell back into the chair. "I wish I could win once."

Prowl stood and started packing the game. "You would, if you ever fought seriously."

"I do fight seriously!"

Prowl only looked at him, completely relaxed. "You don't." He turned towards the watching Enforcers. "Stungun, was it? Shall I give you the game?"

Howlback stepped forward. "I'll take it."

Ironhide tensed for an astrosecond. She was far too close to Prowl whose Praxian form hid the vicious combat expert far too good. But nothing happened. The game changed hands and Jazz stepped next to his lover.

"Time to go," said the ex-spy, as if they were just visiting a party. "We've already been hanging around here too long."

Ironhide nodded and sent the message towards the unit. "Your hands, please."

Stungun and Howlback handcuffed their hands behind them, while they stood just there. Their calmness started to freak Ironhide a bit out. Shouldn't they be angry? Or sad? Anything?

"Do you know what you're charged with?"

"Sure," answered Jazz, ignoring the fact that the investigation had been done in secret with trying to keep them in the dark as best they could. Obviously, they had failed. "But ya can repeat it."

Ironhide nodded to Stungun, who took out a data pad:

"Prowl and Jazz, now both citizens of Praxus, formerly SIC and TIC of the Autobot army among various other positions and titles. You are hereby accused of direct murder in over a hundred cases and torture in over 50 cases of prisoners, mindwipes in six cases, the bombing of Vos and its neutral citizens, manipulating Prime with wrong information, systematically starving out the Decepticons, technology theft from allies, killing allies in 26 cases and the abandonment of allies in four cases."

All three enforcers were looking for a reaction. Anything. But they just stood there as if they had expected all this. As of all of this was old news. In a way to them it was.

Ironhide felt sick.

"Journalists have appeared," warned Howlback suddenly and looked uncertainly at her boss.

Stungun, his arms full with the book files, groaned.

That was the last thing they needed. Journalists meant publicity, meant attention and maybe protests from fanatical Autobots. Every further investigation would be so much more difficult. But to hide them was impossible now and against the new open information policy of Prime. He looked towards Prowl and Jazz. Should they go through the journalists or not? He wasn't sure.

Jazz gave him a reassuring look. "Just lead us through them, 'hide. Doesn't make a diff'rence. Not to us. Can't avoid the public forev'r."

Next to him Prowl nodded. "Do your job and they will see justice and a functional legal system."

And Ironhide remembered why he had followed these two mechs into bloody battles and hopeless situations, into war and death and horror and eventually into peace. Even now, shackled and bound as they were, they had the ability to let him do the right thing. Just why had they themselves done the wrong thing so often?

He took both of them by their arms, unsure if it was a gesture of force or reassurance.

"Let's go."

Together they stepped outside the house into a flurry of camera flashes.


	2. Sunflare

Thanks to Starfire201 for her help as a beta and to Pjlover for the endless encouragement.

Chapter 2/11.

3: Trypticon / 4: Blaster / 5: Ravage / 6: Optimus Prime / 7: Judge Tyrest / 8: Mirage / 9: Ratchet /10: Bluestreak

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2. Sunflare

Sunflare withstood the overwhelming desire to check his appearance at least once again. He knew he looked fine. Not too shiny, but clean with expert detailing as proper for a lawyer. This morning, he had even waxed his white and blue wings with the expensive polish his sparker had gifted him with on his graduation orn. Now, he had only to appear confident, do his job, make a few new contacts and then hopefully, this was his ticket to a big career. It wasn't as if everybot could claim to have had_ the _Prowl and Jazz as their clients. He smiled and turned the last corner to the police headquarters of Iacon.

And stopped abruptly. Nearly a hundred mechs stood screaming in front of the gate, waving shields and banners. On the side, various camera bots were recording the whole scene and a reporter was even standing there and interviewing passerby. Sunflare rebooted his optics. Had he missed something? Sure, he hadn't looked up the news channel this orn, instead preferring to read again through the Basic Law, too nervous to do anything else, but this? This looked big.

He took a deep breath and started walking again. He had a job to do and this wasn't his problem. He only had to get past them. Somehow. As he got slowly nearer, he could make out what the angry crowd was chanting: "Let them go!" Maybe it wasn't the best idea to get nearer. What if they didn't like Seekers? Many still saw a Seeker as synonymous with Decepticons. What if they didn't like lawyers?

"Excuse me," said a voice behind him. "Are you Sunflare, the lawyer?"

He flinched and abruptly turned around, ready to punch his maybe-attacker. A tall grey bot who proudly showed off an Enforcer sign on his breast plate stood a few paces away from him, with a hand on his hip, near his weapon. The Enforcer's lips twitched in badly hidden amusement and hot embarrassment welled up in Sunflare.

"Ah, yes, that's me. And you are?"

"My designation is Stungun." He turned and gave a wave with his hand. "Please follow me. We saw you nearing through the cameras and at the moment it's not advisable to use the front gate. I'll take you to a different entrance."

"Oh, thank you." Relieved, Sunflare followed him into a narrow and easily overlooked side alley, where they stopped before an old door. Stungun put his hand on it, and a thin sheet of metal slid aside to reveal a scanner.

"Officer Stungun acknowledged," said the metallic voice of an AI. "Code?"

The Enforcer rattled the code off and they entered a badly lit hallway that soon descended steeply. The corridor was narrow and low and definitely under the ground, and that meant it was a place were no Seeker was meant to be. Suddenly, he remembered every single horror story of being trapped that his creators had told him, especially the one of the long entrapment of his carrier, and his wings twitched uncontrollably. He was not afraid. Just a bit nervous. Right.

Stungun sent him a worried look and said: "The tunnel isn't long. I'm sorry that this became necessary. Had we known that you were a Seeker, we would have cleared an airpath for you."

Sunflare tried to smile. "No, no, it's alright. It's nice to walk sometimes."

It wasn't as if he could expect that they would clear an airpath for every unimportant lawyer that came along.

"I suppose. Still, I have to say it's impressive how fast you were able to come." Stungun stopped in front of the door and activated another scanner. "Of course with them as your clients and considering the situation, we should have expected nothing less."

Sunflare could feel his tank tightening. What situation? "Fast?"

The door opened and they stepped out of the tunnel into the Enforcer headquarters, where pale yellow hallways were buzzing with activity. All the Enforcers who passed them seemed to be in a hurry, barely greeting Stungun and giving Sunflare nothing more than a curios glance.

Stungun asked in slight puzzlement: "Yes, aren't you the lawyer of Prowl and Jazz?"

"Yes, I am." And if pride was a sin, he would be struck down that very moment. "But I'm not sure if five orns can be considered particularly fast."

"Five orns?" repeated the Enforcer slowly. "But they called you less then four joors ago."

"Eh, no? I'm sure I would have noticed that, I had my communicator on high alert, of course. They contacted me five orns ago and said they would need my consultation today. Said that it was important to be on time..." Sunflare slowly trailed off, when the Enforcer began to walk much faster. "Is everything all right?"

"No. Are you sure that they only contacted you five orns ago?"

"Yes."

"By Primus' shiny aft, they tricked us!" cursed the Enforcer and nearly started to run.

Doors and gangs passed, until they reached an orange door like dozens of others and Stungun stormed in without knocking. Sunflare entered at a much more moderate pace into an office with three desks and a huge table in the middle, which was full of datapads and small information screens. Around the table stood three other Enforcers who had stopped their previous discussion and looked at their colleague.

Sunflares spark stopped for a moment as he recognized the big and red warrior frame on the right – Ironhide, another Autobot hero of the war, once bodyguard of Prime himself and now the head of all the Enforcers. What was he doing here? Surely his missed call couldn't be this important?

But he had to accept that it was, when Stungun opened his mouth:

"They tricked us! They didn't use their call earlier to inform their lawyer. Sunflare said that they contacted him already five orns ago!"

The sleek femme growled, to Sunflare's shock, while Ironhide just sighed, "I guess we should have expected something like this."

The last Enforcer looked at their table and frowned. "Five orns ago, are you sure?"

Sunflare gulped as every optic in the room was on him. "Yes..."

He wouldn't forget that orn. He had been ecstatic, that someone like Prowl and Jazz trusted him enough to hire him. Primus, he had celebrated with his friends and even called his creators.

"How very, very interesting..."

"Interesting, Nightbeat?" snarled the femme. "This isn't interesting, but a catastrophe! We have a slagging traitor who gave them information. Five orns ago, only a handful mechs knew about this!"

Nightbeat shook his head: "Not so few mechs, Howlback. We had to ask around, opened sealed archives... many bots might have noticed something."

"Something!" spat Howlback and started pacing. "Maybe. But not the exact information on which orn we'll capture them and into which headquarters we'll be bringing them!"

Into which headquarters Sunflare had to come.

"The headquarters was probably easy to guess. This one has the most secure Enforcer cells on Cybertron," said Stungun and crossed his arms. "So we brought them here."

"Primus," said Howlback. "Don't you all get it? Five orns ago, even we didn't know when we would get the order of Prime and the United Council on when to take them in."

This got worse and worse. First the mob, which he now supposed was demanding the freedom of Jazz and Prowl, then Ironhide himself was here, his own clients had possibly manipulated the Enforcers, installed traitors and now the Prime and the slagging United Council had issued the capture order personally. Why were the rulers of Cybertron interested in a pair of architects, even if they were war heroes? What in Primus' name was going on?

Ironhide shrugged. "It was to be expected that they still have excellent connections to politics."

"Still..." said Howlback, but Ironhide made a hand wave that shut her up.

"More important is the call that was supposed to go to their lawyer. Did we follow it?"

"No," admitted Stungun after consulting an information screen. "It was made from a communication device in our headquarters as is standard procedure and an officer entered the number for Jazz. We never had to spy on ourselves before."

Ironhide shook his head, bemused. "Jazz is one of the best hackers Cybertron has ever seen. To change a number is sparkling's play for him." He looked at his subordinates. "Nightbeat, you were with them then, right? Did you hear what was said?"

"Yes. It was a normal lawyer call. It was only the why, where and when, and nothing more."

"No names, no anything?"

Nightbeat hesitated, glanced for a second at the Seeker who tried his best to disappear into the corner, and then said: "The only name was Sunflare. But if it wasn't Sunflare who was called..."

"Then all this was planned long before," said Howlback with cold anger.

"Please, keep calm." Ironhide sighed. "Nightbeat, try to recover as much as possible of that call from your memory drives. Howlback, I want you to speak with the technicians to see if the call can be traced somehow. Sunflare..." The Seeker shrank a bit more. "Despite everything, you're their lawyer. Would you please come with me? Your clients are expecting you."

The seeker nodded, but instead of feeling delight, it now felt more like entering the cave of Unicron himself. This wasn't how he had imagined this case, not by a long shot.

Again he walked through the long hallways with an Enforcer by his side, just that the greetings now were much more polite. The power of might and respect, he supposed. Sunflare had nearly stopped at the shield that had proclaimed that they now had reached 'Section C' of the holding cells. What in the Allspark's endless creation were they doing in a section that was only for the worst of the worst? For truly dangerous and insane murderers?

Ironhide opened a heavy door to the section after two scans and entering a code and they stepped into a long corridor. Every few steps they had to stop again and complete another security measure. It was nearly ridiculous, but Sunflare didn't dare to say anything. Ironhide was too grim, and the two bots he would meet soon had already proven that all these security measures didn't stop them from doing... something.

"You're young, right, Sunflare? One of the new generation?"

New generation, the peace generation, the generation after the long long war. The old bots called it a privilege, but Sunflare sometimes hated that label. It made them seem younger and some fools always saw them as mere younglings. As if you were only an adult with energon on your hands.

"Yes."

Ironhide sighed deep and long. "Kid, I know I shouldn't say this... but those two were and are my friends. Even with all the crimes they have committed, I'm sure they never wanted to do something bad, you know?" Sunflare didn't, but nodded anyway. "I guess what I want to say is that whatever they're planning, they probably don't want to harm you, okay?"

The word 'probably' wasn't reassuring. Not by a long shot. Still, Sunflare appreciated it."Thanks." The last laser grid vanished and they reached another massive door.

"Ironhide, would you mind... telling me what their supposed crimes are?"

The surprise on Ironhide's face was telling. "You don't know?"

The Seeker nearly winced. "No."

The metal gave a low groan as Ironhide opened manually opened the cell door. "Then you'd better ask them that yourself. Good luck."

Sunflare felt a big hand on his wings that nearly shoved him into the cell, then the door fell shut behind him and he was trapped.

"Ya're Sunflare, right?" said a friendly voice.

Sunflare tried to calm his nervously dancing spark, looked up from the floor, and nodded once, in what he hoped was at least a halfway confident manner. The speaker was an average sized black and white bot with a distinctive visor only a few paces away from him, sitting at a table playing a boardgame. _Jazz,_ whispered his processor. At the other side of the table was a Praxian with the same finish, wings hanging utterly relax low on his back. That had to be Prowl, the second of the duo.

"Nice to meet ya. Don't ya want to sit down? They even gave us three chairs here. A fourth one and we would live in luxury." Jazz gave an easy laugh and Prowl's wings twitched in amusement.

Sunflare copied the twitch, more out of politeness than anything else, and took the offer, all the while trying to look around discreetly. It wasn't a bad cell, as far as his knowledge of cells went. It had no window, but the light was bright and very high above. Besides the table and the chairs, the cell held two berths and a few datapads strewn carelessly across one of them. Were they only using one? As expected, there were no cameras or microphones as it was illegal to record a meeting between a lawyer and the accused.

"So, what do you know about the whole situation by now, Sunflare?"

He really, really should have watched the news channel this morning. But how could he have expected this? "Nothing. No one has told me anything."

Prowl, for the first time, seemed to really focus on him. Suddenly, Sunflare understood how the winged mech, who usually and literally wore his emotions on his back, had gotten the nickname 'drone'. His face betrayed nothing and even those elegant wings were extremely still. "Really? We had expected otherwise."

Sunflare wanted to vanish. Already he had disappointed his clients. "Sorry..."

"Don't be, 'Flare. We'll just explain it to ya."

Jazz patted one of his wings, and Sunflare felt a small amount of surprise as he realised that Jazz did it _right_. Like a Praxian or a Seeker, he patted the upper points, which were the most impersonal points of the wings. Most groundframes didn't even know enough to realise there was this gesture, did it wrong with too much or too little force or didn't do it at all, because their culture was less... about touching and emotions.

His wing twitched in a gesture of thanks and Jazz smiled. Fluent in wing-language then. With a Praxian mate, maybe even bonded, not such a big surprise, but a pleasant one. The first good one this orn.

"Thank you... Maybe, we can start with what you're accused of."

What could they have done? Thievery? Maybe a stalker broke in and they killed him? Did they hire assassins to kill someone? But what he then heard, surpassed his worst nightmares. The list was long and each crime was worse than the previous one.

"But...but..." He looked at them in shock. It was impossible that these two mechs, these two heroes, should be accused of such atrocities. "That's... I can't... I mean, I've only been a lawyer for a vorn. I can't help you in the biggest trial of the last millennia!" He looked at them helplessly. "I don't know why you chose me, but surely you got the wrong lawyer."

By Prima's spark, they didn't need him, or even simply _one_ lawyer, they needed a whole army of lawyers and the luck of Primus to get out of this alive.

"Oh, I'm sure we didn't." Jazz's visor flashed for a second in the light. "You're Sunflare, right? 432 vorns old, living in southeast Iacon, favourite restaurant a small café called 'Goodie's Love'. You graduated Summa Cum Laude from your academy, are interested in history, genius, Seeker, one of the best fliers on the whole planet and in love with Turnaround, but afraid to tell your creators, because he's no flier. Personally, I like Turnaround. You've got taste."

Sunflare felt a completely new horror inside of him.

"Furthermore," said Prowl from the other side. "You're the creation of a Decepticon and a Neutral, which is one of the few things your creators didn't change as they took on their new identities. And this fact means means that we can be sure not to be accused of using our reputation or manipulating you."

He froze. Impossible. They shouldn't, couldn't know this. His creators had gone to great pains to hide that they ever had a sparkling. "My creators...?"

"Are Starscream and Skyfire," completed Jazz as he calmly leaned back into his chair.

"How...?"

"Anyway," said Prowl. "You can't back out now. You have already signed the contract."

It was true. He had signed it without a second thought. "But..."

There had to be a way out. Some way out of the contract, out of the room and... his thoughts always came back to the fact that they knew who his creators were. That Starscream was his sparker. Starscream, the most hated Seeker in history, who was supposed to have been dead for many vorns. If they made this knowledge public, it could mean his ruin and his creators violent death...

"As I already said, don't worry, Sunflare." Jazz smiled, but this time it gave no comfort to the Seeker. "This is your ticket to a big career. Your chance to show everyone, that a Seeker and the creation of a Decepticon can be a wonderful lawyer."

With cold certainty, Sunflare realized that they knew him somehow. Knew his dreams, his love, his creators, his whole life. He stared at them, captured in a storm of emotions and slowly accepted that he had to see this through. Whatever this was.

He shuttered his optics, defragmented his whole processor and with a clear mind looked at them again.

"So, I'm your lawyer. Your only lawyer."

"Yep."

"I'm inexperienced, without any reputation and have secrets in my past."

"Yep."

"You want me anyway."

"We hand picked you from hundreds of possibilities," said Prowl and from him, Sunflare didn't believe the words to be an exaggeration for one astrosecond. "So, yes."

"Why? Why me?" He hated the quiet desperation in his voice and that his wings trembled.

"We need somebot who will do his job, is good at it, and could be trusted," explained Prowl with a flat voice, but his wings emphasized the last word. "Additionally, we didn't want to take a former Autobot or someone who owned us in any way, because it would have been considered as an attempt to use our former positions for our gain. You fulfill all this and more."

He wasn't sure how to take the praise, so he was quiet for a long moment. "And now? I guess you don't need me for consultation." Heck, _he_ could probably consult _them_. He was completely out of his depth here.

"Now? We'll explain what you will do."

And he would do it. As long as it wasn't illegal, he would do it exactly as they said. They were his clients and he was their lawyer. It wasn't consultation, but he was hired to help them anyway. His honour and own desire for greatness bound him as securely to their side as any unsaid threat.

He had been expertly manipulated.

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Next Chapter: Trypticon.


	3. Trypticon

Far later than I thought, but I'm RL is a bit stressful at the moment.

Disclaimer: I own nothing... as always.

Beta: Starfire201, also as always. What would I do without her?

Hope you all enjoy the chapter!

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**3. Trypticon**

Trypticon, weapon of terror and destruction during the war, sign of justice and security after the war. Few could have imagined the Decepticon would go peacefully back into his original function – to be a city – and yet here he was. Sitting proudly on Luna 2, holding the high security prison as well as the Halls of Justice, also called the High Courts.

Fortress Maximus stood on one of the many balconies and enjoyed the impressive sight of the massive silhouette against the black of the space, the lights that glittered warmly, the towers and spires that rose high into the sky, the elegant bridges that spanned across the sections, the transparent sky domes that laid scattered across the whole city.

::Maximus, incoming transport**,**:: a deep voice warned suddenly over his one comm line that was always open.

He glanced towards the planet Cybertron rising on the horizon and indeed noticed several small lights drawing closer. ::Thank you, Trypticon. I'll welcome them.::

As was his duty as the warden of Trypticon, his friend and manager. During the war, he had been responsible for the prison planet Garrus-9. It had been a peaceful job compared to many others, but it had held its own horrors to work with: criminals and the insane every single orn. After the war, people had finally looked at the Garrus prison planets and scrapped all but two of them. Instead, every prisoner was required to attend sessions with psychologists and codemasters (before, it had been deemed a waste of resources as every single soldier had needed them), which made it possible that most of the less dangerous prisoners could**,** slowly and with much supervision, be returned to society. It had made Fortress Maximus glad to witness this – even as it cost him his job.

Dark orns had followed, until Smokescreen had appeared before his run-down apartment door with the job offer to become the partner of Trypticon. Trypticon of all monsters! But he had had nothing to lose and Smokescreen had been very good at convincing him. Now, vorns later, he looked back to it as one of the best decisions of his life.

By the time he stepped onto the landing field, the guards with the new prisoners had already disembarked and the shuttle was taking off again with a quickstart manoeuvre and vanishing into space. Maximus frowned when he saw an entire Seeker squadron circling them above. He had known that heavy security was needed, yet to see such a massive presence of the military, of Seekers, sat uneasily with him.

As he neared, he noticed that none of the guards joked or even smiled. Instead, a special unit of the Enforcers stood there, tensely, with their weapons drawn as if expecting an attack at any moment.

His contact mech differed only in the fact that she stood in front of them and wasn't glancing back at the prisoners at all. He stepped towards her with a friendly smile: "Welcome to Trypticon. My designation is Fortress Maximus**.** I'm the warden."

"Howlback. These are my mechs." She nodded to the guards. "No problems so far on the transport."

For a split astrosecond, she seemed relieved. Maximus could understand it**,** as he had seen part of the extensive plans to move the prisoners securely. From rescue attempts of fanatic ex-Autobots, to attempts at revenge, to escape attempts of the very dangerous prisoners, everything had been considered and planned for.

The femme looked over the empty landing field coldly. "You're prepared?"

"Of course." He sent a silent question to Trypticon anyway and got a positive answer. "If you'll follow me, please?"

They did, and as they entered Trypticon**,** Maximus felt pent-up tension vanish that he hadn't even been aware of. Here, they were in Trypticon's and his domain. Here, every corridor held weapons and drones ready to fight. Here, energy shields and traps would stop any attack.

"You're not looking at them," said Howlback next to him.

Maximus nearly flinched. It was true.

The Enforcer watched him warily. "You were an Autobot." Not a question, just a statement. Was it that obvious? "Were you close?"

"No, not really." He vented for a few cycles. "It's only... My position was directly under them. No military chain, just - they ordered, I obeyed. I never asked who they sent to Garrus-9." He had trusted them completely. And wasn't that a terrifying thought? Here he had thought he had managed to survive the war without committing atrocities and now...

"I see," said Howlback slowly. "Don't let them fool you, they're dangerous."

He had already known that. He looked back at the two black and whites, at Jazz and Prowl walking surrounded by no less then twenty mechs ready to shoot at the slightest provocation, and yet they were utterly relaxed. Jazz even went so far to lean over to Prowl and to say something that made the former tactician smile.

Prisoners in their situation shouldn't be so relaxed. His well-honed instincts wailed that something was wrong, but his trained optics saw nothing. The Enforcers and he had thought about everything. He looked straight ahead once more.

The rest of the walk to the cell was in silence, their heavy steps echoing through the bright halls. Maximus remembered how the hallways had been dark and dirty when he had arrived, evidence of the sorry state of Trypticon. It made him proud to know that his friend now had the energy and will to keep even the smallest corner of himself in an impeccable condition.

"Here it is." Before them**, **the cell door opened on its own, as had all the doors previously. "Your new home."

Without hesitation**,** the two former Autobot officers stepped inside. Jazz whistled. "Nice."

It was. A bit surprised**, **Maximus looked around the room and noticed that it was more a small apartment than a cell. It held two berths, a couch with a small table, a shelf with several data pads, an energon dispenser and even a terminal with computer games.

::Trypticon?:: he asked hastily. ::That's not a standard cell.::

For the first time in vorns, he received no answer. Next to him, Howlback frowned and stalked over to the terminal without another word. "This better have no outside connection."

Jazz chuckled, amused, while Prowl just went over to the shelf.

"It has no connection at all," rumbled Trypticon's voice through the halls and buildings, startling all but Maximus, who was more relieved than anything. It was rare for the cityformer to speak with outsiders, but sometimes he chose to. "It only contains several games and music files."

Jazz's visor flashed warmly. "Really? Thank ya, Trypti!"

Howlback, whose blaster had heated up, relaxed. "I see." She walked out of the cell. "I hope the highest security measures have been taken?"

For a moment**,** Maximus expected Trypticon to answer, but the cityformer remained silent. It fell to the warden to handle the normal proceedings and bureaucracy. Cityformers**, **with their broad bodies and thousands of sensors that splintered their minds into thousands of strands**,** rarely had the patience and focus for it.

Maximus didn't mind this part of his function. "Of course. Do you wish to see the files?"

Howlback nodded. "Send them to my terminal." She winked at the two guards**, **who then unloaded a few datapads and a game on the table out of the cell. "Prowl, Jazz, your first court hearing has been scheduled in two orns. Your lawyer will be allowed to visit you at any time. Do you have questions?"

Jazz fell on the couch. "Nah, thank ya, Howlback, Ah'm fine. What 'bout ya, Prowler?"

The Praxian's wings flicked. "My designation is Prowl, Jazz." The annoyance in his voice was more playful than anything and vanished completely within the next sentence. "And I would like to know if it's a public hearing or not."

"Public," was the short answer.

Jazz grinned. "Told ya."

Prowl walked to the couch and sat next to him, wings spreading wide. Maximus thought suddenly that they looked a bit like a bonded pair in their own home. "There was the distinct possibility that this would not be the case."

"For ya, ev'ry possibility is distinct, as long as ya' can calculate it." Jazz winked at the group that was standing in the hall. "Close the door, will ya? It's impolite ta stare."

Before anyone could answer, Trypticon heeded the request and closed the door. Howlback huffed frustrated. "Those..." She forced herself to calm down. "Fortress Maximus, thank you for your hospitality. Those two are now Trypticon's and your responsibility. I wish you good luck."

Maximus had the feeling that he might need it. "Thank you. Shall I escort you back...?"

"No. We'll find the way." She turned and walked back the way they had come. "We'll see you at the trial."

The guards of the special unit followed her and then Maximus was alone. With a sigh, he walked back to the tower in the middle of Trypticon that held his office and quarters. He couldn't forget the cell. Cityformers thought differently than most people. A strong sign of how they felt about their inhabitants was the location and furniture of their rooms. To give two prisoners such a room... but they had been Autobots and Trypticon a Decepticon. It didn't fit. In the end, he asked.

::Trypticon, would you explain the cell to me?::

For a few seconds the cityformer didn't answer, then came the nearly sheepish rumble: ::They deserved this.::

Maximus felt dread. ::Why?::

This time the silence was even longer. When Trypticon spoke again, it was slow as if every word had to be forced: ::I never told you... because I wanted to forget. I was damaged in the war, and afterwards I floated in space. Hurting and alone.:: The last word had additional glyphs that showed a far deeper pain than anything before.

::Trypticon, my friend, my partner...:: Maximus tried to comfort, horrified by the revelation that Trypticon had been abandoned in space. Cityformers were not built to be alone. They were built for a constant hustling and bustling life. The darkness and eternal silence in space must have pushed Trypticon to the edge of sanity and maybe beyond. It explained so much.

::I was found**,**:: continued the giant. ::By Autobots. I expected a swift death and welcomed it. But instead they sent a notice to their superior, Prowl. He commed me. With a choice.:: A tremble went through the city.

::He didn't force you into something, right?:: he asked worriedly. Sure, Prowl was an Autobot, but with the latest revelations, anything was possible.

Trypticons next glyph was a smile. ::No. He said that he didn't want to deactivate me. That I could choose between just floating on, or being repaired by the Autobots on that ship. And that the Autobots would stay with me, until I reached Cybertron. He promised I wouldn't be...::

::Alone**,**:: finished Maximus for him, not for the first time wishing he could hug the cityformer. Instead**,** all he could do was to put a hand on the wall and caress it. It was more symbolic than anything. He could see what Prowl had done, he had forced his friend to live. Cruel, yes, but Maximus was thankful for it.

::Yes. The thought of just floating on was horrible enough to agree to anything. And not harming them was a small price.:: Trypticon sounded surer now, more certain and less emotional. It went against a cityformer's programming anyway to harm inhabitants. And mechs that repaired a cityformer were classified as inhabitants nearly by default.

Maximus leaned against the wall. ::I see. So you came back to Cybertron. And then?::

::Prowl and Jazz visited me and asked me what I wanted.:: The incredulity Trypticon had then felt was even now present in every glyph. No wonder, cityformers were rarely asked for their opinion about their own fate and Trypticon had been one of the most feared Decepticons as well. ::I didn't know. Ionly knew that I didn't want to deactivate any more. They gave me options.::

::What kind of options?::

::Many. But the thought of becoming a normal city again, to touch this cursed planet again... I couldn't.:: The glyphs were jagged, broken, just like a part of the spark of the giant. The killing on the battlefield had changed Trypticon into an angry**, **hateful being, that had hated itself the most. Cityformers were part of the defence of Cybertron, but in the Great War they were forced to fight against citizens, inhabitants**,** and each other. It had went against everything they were. ::So they offered that I remain on the second moon and become a prison. It was acceptable. I was close and far enough to Cybertron, had but few inhabitants and they were all controlled. I was safe.::

Maximus understood, as they had talked about it many times before. Especially as the warden tried and succeeded in persuading the cityformer to also host the High Courts of Cybertron. He pressed his head against the wall, shuttering his optics. ::You are always safe as long as I am there.::

It was a lie and both knew it, but it was the thought that counted. The: _I protect you as well__as I can_. For a moment the hallway heated up and warm wind brushed Maximus' armour. It made him smile.

::I was content for a time. Then they visited again and said I needed a warden for the paperwork and because it would make me more 'stable'.:: The last word was one single angry glyph and Maximus chuckled. His friend surely had raged and howled against this. ::I said no. Instead of arguing, they gave me your file.::

::What?:: asked the warden startled. ::My...?::

::Yes.:: Trypticon seemed amused. ::They said they had already sent someone to recruit you and that you needed a prison to function.::

::But...:: Maximus vented. What Trypticon said could be true. Smokescreen had been Prowl's student and the warden had always wondered why Smokescreen of all mechs suddenly cared about him. ::It was functioning very well**, **::he finally protested weakly.

::You were not.:: There were no additional defining glyphs to the words. Trypticon was serious. ::The thought that they would sent someone to 'fix' me, was unbearable. But you... I thought that maybe we could help each other out. You needed a prison, I needed a warden. Purely selfish reasons, just as the Decepticons had taught me.::

Maximus laughed, as if a cityformer could ever be entirely selfish. If they were, they would be ruling Cybertron. ::You big bad Decepticon**,**:: he muttered affectionately. ::I'm happy you gave me a chance.::

::I am too. And I'm thankful that I got the chance for this life with you... ::

Trypticon slipped into silence and Maximus**'** smile slowly vanished as he realised the implications of the talk with Trypticon. From rescue missions of fanatic ex-Autobots, to revenge attempts of former Decepticons, to escape schemes of the very dangerous prisoners, everything had been considered and planned for.

Everything, but a prison that didn't want to hold its prisoners.


	4. Blaster

Sorry, that this chapter took a while. Life was very busy the last few weeks.

Beta: Starfire

* * *

4. Blaster

"Please, just one sentence!"

Blaster gritted his denta and pushed the femme aside, back into the crowd. He could already see his destination, which promised safety from these paparazzi.

"Do you believe that they are guilty?" cried another bot and pushed against him.

"No comment!"

Another appeared in his way. "What do you think about your best friend now?"

"Blaster!"

A short run later and he had finally reached the checkpoint, closely pursued by the journalists and reporters and plain, curious mechs. He flashed the impressively tall security mech his identification badge that proved him to be part of one of the only four news teams allowed inside. The guard nodded, and thankfully moved to block the way of the pursuers with grim determination.

Blaster didn't hesitate an astrosecond longer and stepped through the door which had opened automatically. His trained optics spotted various defence mechanisms in the hallway and around the door with ease. Idly, he wondered how many more were hidden from him. Trypticon always had had the reputation of a fortress, something that hadn't changed in their new era of peace. This, coupled with the soldier of the Cybertronian Defence Force (CDF for short), provided Blaster now with the first feeling of safety for orns.

Slowly, his racing systems calmed and he started walking down the plain hallway.

For Blaster, it had all started with the Breaking News report that had suddenly been shown on every channel and network Cybertron possessed. He hadn't been able to believe it at first. In anger at how people dared to accuse Prowl and Jazz like this and trembling with deep worry, he had tried to contact them, but it was futile. Then, he had done the next best thing and lost no further time in contacting Ironhide. It had been a sobering conversation which made clear the charges weren't fabricated and that they had gone willingly with the Enforcers.

In that joor, a small world had crumbled for Blaster. He had considered Jazz as his best friend, family even. He would've given his life for both of them without a second thought. He had placed his trust in them, obeyed and killed and walked to the pit and out – all in the belief that they were doing the right thing.

The charges were as far apart from the right thing as possible. How didn't anyone notice? Worse, had he helped without knowing? Why hadn't they tried to escape?

He wasn't the only one with questions. After the Great War, he had become a famous and beloved DJ, his known appearance became now a curse. Suddenly, everywhere he went mechs remembered that he was Jazz's best friend and had been the Communication Officer of the Autobots and surely he knew something...? He didn't, was even useless as a witness, but many mechs didn't believe him, and some fans felt personally betrayed. They called him 'monster', painted his house with defamations and assaulted him on the street.

Unable to stand the attacks and the journalists hounding him without respite, he left his luxurious apartment in Polyhex and went into hiding. Until this orn.

"Welcome, Blaster," greeted the cityformer's deep voice suddenly. Blaster shuddered as the vibrations hit his sensitive microphones and music speakers. "You're allowed to witness the trial from observation room eight. I will guide you. Please, do not leave the path."

"Thanks, Trypticon." For a moment he felt the slight wonder he always did when he interacted with former Decepticons. It made the peace all the more precious.

On the floor in front of him, several yellow arrows lit up. He followed them through hallways, each one full with nervous mechs, busy officials carrying datapads, important looking politicians tending to their social nets and dozens of security mechs from the CDF, Enforcers of various city states and private companies. It was obvious that despite the impressive security Trypticon offered, no one wanted to take any risks.

It was probably sensible, especially if one knew about Prowl and Jazz's more successful plans in the Great War. And yet... a large part of Blaster just wished all the guards away, so that they would be able to escape.

"You have reached observation room eight," announced Trypticon. "I wish you a nice orn."

"You as well," was Blaster's automatic answer as he turned to the door onto which the number eight was etched.

It opened nearly silently and he stepped onto a soft silver floor made of expensive mesh. Behind him the door slid shut and the noise and stress fell away to blissful silence and the wonderful fact of being alone. Being safe from all the questions. He shuttered his optics for a moment, enjoying it, preparing for what was to come.

So far, he had managed to avoid all and every journalist. Not any more. He straightened and onlined his optics again. At least it would be on his terms.

He found himself in a small observation room used by journalists to observe the trials. With fast steps, he crossed the cabin to the far side wall that was completely transparent. Beneath it spread the infamous Hall of Justice in which the High Court judged only the worst of crimes and highest political cases.

This was the place in which guilt and innocence was decided once and for all.

Only mechs expedient to an ongoing trial were allowed to come here. Until now, Blaster had never been one of them and as a result had seen the hall only on TV stations. It was an impressive sight, even now, as it lay still empty and quiet before him.

Golden glyphs on the white wall proclaimed their highest laws: _All are the same. Punishment must fit the crime. Truth is the base of all. Speak and be heard. _And many more.

Only the whole wall on the right had no decorations at all as it was formed by Aequitas, the super computer from Garrus-9 that calculated guilt, ensuring complete neutrality in any trial. In front of it on a platform was a table with three empty chairs, where the three judges sat. A bit farther to the left came again two platforms with a broad passageway between them: assigned to the seating of the prosecution and defence. Rows upon rows of seats for journalists, witnesses, family, sometimes politicians and Enforcers filled the remaining space. Without a doubt, the hall would be filled to the brim the moment the trial began.

It was the only fitting place for Prowl and Jazz to be heard at.

Behind him, the door opened and closed again. Blaster probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been waiting for it.

"Hello, Blaster. You're early," said a friendly voice.

Blaster turned and greeted the silver-white mech warmly. "Hello, Rook. I wanted to avoid most of the crowds. It didn't work out as well as I hoped." He grimaced slightly. "How did you fare?"

Rook shrugged with an easy smile. "Quite well. Just slipped through. Maybe they want the opinion of just another journalist less than the one from Jazz's best friend?"

"Maybe."

Blaster doubted that. It was more likely that they simply hadn't recognised the plain frame in time. Rook wasn't just any journalist, he was a legend among them, a living example of all a journalist should be and the most trusted voice of truth their race possessed. A reputation won hard through utterly fearless reportages directly from the battlefield in the Great War. He had been one of the very few that Autobots, Decepticons and neutrals alike had welcomed. With good reason, as he had never broadcasted in his show 'Around Cybertron' anything than the absolute truth. During the vorns of peace though, he had withdrawn from politics and instead produced some documentaries – all of them excellent.

So, when Rook had found Blaster hiding at a friend's home and offered to moderate the trial live together with him, while answering questions about Jazz and Prowl... Blaster hadn't been able to say no. Not only had he dreamed of working with Rook, but it was also the only way he could become involved at all, to make sure his words wouldn't be twisted and maybe to help Jazz.

He would've loved to talk to his friend about his opinion of Blaster doing this, but it was impossible. No visits or calls were allowed. Which was a pity; with all the secret codes that Blaster still remembered from the war, he was sure they would be able to talk about anything without anyone being wiser.

"They got you, right?" asked Rook, concerned, while uploading data on the wall that doubled as one giant screen. "Told them anything?"

"Of course not." As if he would jeopardize this for a few vultures just looking to fleece his words for a few thousands more viewers.

"Great!" Rook glanced down into the hall and his gaze sharpened. "The first witnesses and soldiers are entering, it'll begin soon. We should start now. Ready?"

"Sure." Hopefully.

Thankfully, they didn't need a camera crew or anything here, the room itself and Trypticon took over these mundane tasks. Rook was experienced with the system and introduced the show without any hesitation or trouble.

"And for this reason, I want to welcome my guest and co-moderator for this orn – Blaster!"

He nodded, more than aware that nearly every Cybertronian in existence was watching him. Normally, they just heard his music. The thought that they all saw and listened directly to him was, for a moment, nearly overwhelming.

"Hello Rook," he forced himself to say.

"Hello as well. It's wonderful that you agreed to be here." Rook smiled and it even looked genuine. Maybe it was. "What do think we can expect this orn from Prowl and Jazz?"

Blaster blinked as he really thought over the question and remembered a dozens of situations in the war. Far too aware of the klicks draining away while he thought, he still had to smile as he realised what the only possible answer was:

"Uh... well... they're unpredictable, always have been. So, I guess a few surprises."

"Surprises in a trial?" Rook seemed intrigued. "It'll at least keep up the suspense. What about the fear of their escape?" He pointed at the hall beneath them, that was now filled with everyone but the main players. "Down there I see at least twenty CDF soldiers alone, surrounding this hall and providing security is nearly a whole battalion, not to mention Trypticon and the fact that we're on a moon. Isn't this over the top?"

Blaster slowly felt more sure. "I don't think so. Most forget that these two aren't among the ten most dangerous Cybertronians because they're such great fighters. No, their strength is finding the weakness of their opponent." He looked down into the hall. Dozens of memory paths with examples opened up. "And every system, every mech has a weakness."

Rook's optics dimmed for a moment as he recognised the truth in these words. "So you're one of the mechs that think they could escape this orn?"

There were many mechs who believed exactly that or were even preparing to break them out at the smallest sign that Prowl and Jazz wanted to be saved. Fans and believers were openly protesting in the streets, wearing black and white as a declaration of their loyalty. It would have been be ridiculous, if it weren't so many. But so far all was peaceful.

Blaster hesitated, knowing that with his next words he could push these believers into violent action. Then he shook his head. "They aren't magicians."

"But...?"

"But..." He sighed. This thought had kept him from recharging in the last orns, and kept him busy even as his own fans assaulted him in the street. Thinking it all over and over, he always came to the same conclusion. "I believe they want to be here. They're both paranoid to a certain extent, and both love gathering information, love knowing..." He narrowed his optics as down in the hall the lawyers of the prosecution walked it. "I'm nearly certain that they knew what would happen long before the Enforcers walked to their house."

The journalist was silent for a moment. Obviously, he hadn't expected this answer, and if even Rook hadn't, then their viewers were now stunned.

Down there, the doors opened again and soldiers holding gleaming chains marched in and behind them...

"Rook," said Blaster urgently. "They're here."

The silver-white mech followed his gaze, then changed over comm lines the camera setting.

Blaster felt as if the world should stop as he finally saw his old friend and his bondmate. The hall fell deadly quiet, and not a bot other than the slow marching armed soldiers and their prisoners dared moved any more. Prowl and Jazz entered next to each other, chained at ankles and wrists and with their heads held high in pride and confidence. They looked as they always had, black and white, solid, trustworthy. Relief that they were alright replaced the deep worry he had carried around with him, only then to feel hurt by their sameness. How could the monsters accused of these horrible charges be his friends and commanders? Shouldn't he see their evil now that he knew?

But all he saw was Jazz and Prowl in chains, looking calm and confident as if they were escorted by a honour guard and not paraded around in chains as two of the worst criminals to ever touch Cybertron.

"Blaster, what can you tell us about them...?" asked Rook quietly next to him.

The former Communications Officer reined his feelings in and gave the cameras the needed orders to zoom at them even more. "Do you see Prowl's doorwings? Their position is not very high or low, just neutral. But they're not stiff, which means he isn't worried, or nervous. Oh, and did you see how Jazz stepped nearer to Prowl?"

"Yes. Fear?"

A reasonable guess. Sadly, totally wrong. "No," said Blaster with conviction. "During the war if they were afraid they would always form a united front, ready to defend themselves from an attack at any time. Jazz is too close for that to Prowl."

Rook hummed in agreement. "But what else...?"

"He's telling Prowl something. And... yes, there. This small wing flutter." Blaster set the camera on repeat for the two small scenes.

"Amusement", concluded Rook who had a passing-familiarity with wing-language. "A joke, then."

"Yes." Blaster chuckled, feeling suddenly now a lot less worried about his friend. It felt so surreal to be here at their trial, when he still possessed so many positive memories of them. "Jazz always tells Prowl jokes, when he thinks his bondmate is worrying too much over nothing. Things like the punishment schedule for pranksters, or if during inventory a wrench was found missing..."

Rook gave him an sceptical glance. "This situation is hardly the same."

Down there, Prowl now leaned towards his bondmate's audios and whispered some short words that made Jazz's visor a few shades lighter. Blaster sighed as he remembered the many moments of Prowl's dry humour – sometimes appropriate, sometimes not. The timing had never mattered to Jazz; he had always smiled.

"To ya, yes. But to them? Who knows?"

Everyone had reached their seats. It was nearly ridiculous to see the tightly packed platform of the prosecution with nearly twenty mechs, and Prowl and Jazz's side with one single lawyer, a Seeker in white and blue.

"I've never seen this lawyer before," thought Blaster out aloud. "Is he good?"

Rook actually laughed. "Who knows? His designation is Sunflare. He's fresh from the academy, and the creation of the senator Sunburst of Vos with his bondmate Skylight. My connections told me he was contracted five orns before Jazz and Prowl were arrested. Some call it the luckiest contract in history."

"Lucky", repeated Blaster flatly. "I stopped believing in chance when I met them."

A bell rang through the hall and the three judges stood. The one in the middle was the highest judicial authority, an old green and yellow mech with the impressive wings of old Praxian elite. Lord High Judge Tyrest, whose vote would be the deciding one. On either either side of him were the Lower Judges who would be able to block Lord Tyrest's verdict together, if they both had doubts. The only other one with this power was the super computer Aequitas.

Lord High Judge Tyrest began the trial with ancient words of peace, truth and honour, followed by the introduction of himself, the Lower Judges and the lawyers. Sunflare managed to look just as composed as the armada of older and more experienced lawyers on the other side.

Blaster decided that he liked the small seeker.

Tyrest took a datapad from his table and activated it: "Defendants Prowl and Jazz as you have confirmed to have been bondmates for the entire time period in which the charges fall, you'll be expected to plead the same as you will be punished the same. You can plead -"

"Guilty", Jazz interrupted with a grin.

Not a few mouths in the hall fell open. Blaster couldn't hide a groan. He knew that grin, it translated into only one thing: mischief.

Lord High Judge Tyrest looked up startled and then frowned: "Guilty or innocent."

The former TIC didn't seem impressed. "Just guilty. It's faster."

There were some deep vents in the hall, as slowly, mechs understood what Jazz was saying. He wanted to plead guilty – on all charges. Blaster muttered helplessly, "Primus, Jazz...", not knowing if he should laugh or scream.

The High Judge wasn't moved as easily. With cool optics he said: "Nevertheless the procedural rules demand that you will plead on every case separately. Let's begin."

They did. One atrocious crime after another was listed, one horror after another revealed, and every time reacted the crowd of witnesses with shock and dismay. The defendants, though, less so. It was more than customary that the accused showed distress or confusion, be it a true emotion or just to help their case. Not this time. No matter what they were accused of, Prowl was sitting unmoving as a statue, while his bondmate was busy throwing every chance of winning their case into a black hole with an expression close to boredom:

"Guilty. Again guilty. Guilty. Guilty, must I repeat myself? Guilty."

"They're burying themselves," whispered Rook, amazed.

Blaster nodded grimly, less surprised than most. "Yes. Just further proof that they want to be here."

"But why?" asked the journalist and crossed his arms. "Normally one can gain nothing by prison or public execution."

"They have to gain something," insisted Blaster. Another cold, plausible thought touched his spark. He shuddered. "Or execution is exactly what they want..."

"Wanting deactivation?" Rook thought it over while he watched the proceedings below. "If they really committed these crimes, is it possible they'll feel guilty enough to want death?"

Astroseconds went past, only interrupted by another charge and another plead of 'guilty'.

"Yes", he finally whispered. His spark twisted. Bright, laughing Jazz suicidal? "If they somehow saw themselves forced to make these decisions and regretted them ever since..."

Rook narrowed his optics, then turned and called up several data on the wall. "It also would be the very best moment to do so. Crime rates low, economy strong, no unrest since vorns ago for the first time since the Great War. Just peace. And, more important, stable peace."

Blaster looked at the dozens colourful statistics on the wall, but didn't quite understand. "Stable peace?"

"Yes." Rook sighed. "This is a trial of heroes, of former admired leaders. It puts stress onto any society, which can lead to another civil war or at least massive riots. If you want to have such a trial as soon as possible after the Great War without risking peace, now is the ideal moment."

Blaster looked down to his friend, who now seemed so far and foreign. "Sounds like them."

The journalist frowned with an excited glimmer in his optics. This was the mech that had crossed battlefields, negotiated with Optimus Prime and Megatron themselves, dived down into the darkest pits of their race for nothing but the _chance_ to find out the truth. "But that also means that they not only knew about the charges against them, they also decided _when_ the evidence against them would be found."

Which would have taken a massive amount of influence, political skill and knowledge.

"And it still sounds like them," commented Blaster with a wry smile.

He shouldn't stand here and hope that it was like that, but he did. He wished for his friends that they were here out of their own free will, and not because of the chains and soldiers.

Beneath them, Jazz continued their suicidal approach to the charges: "Guilty. Maybe I can just make a card and raise it every time? No? Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guil- Moment." Jazz blinked, stopping for a moment. "'cuse me, can ya repeat that?"

The Lord High Judge Tyrest nodded, for a moment seeming nearly relieved that the farce was over. "Charge 56. The starvation of 235 neutrals in sector D-T3-2342 on planet Urix..."

Obviously puzzled, Jazz turned to Prowl. "Can't remember that one. Did ya order this?"

"No." Prowl answered fast and clinically precise. "Are they sure they have the right sector?"

Jazz looked to the judge: "Hey, check the sector."

"It's the right one," growled Lord High Judge Tyrest.

"Strange," commented Jazz with a smile. "I can only remember starving people in sector T-J2-23423."

Next to him the seeker lawyer twitched, then held still again. But his wide optics spoke the same emotions that everyone else had.

"And sector E-U8-523432, don't forget this one," added Prowl with a wing flutter.

Above them, Blaster's helmet met the transparent wall with a loud clang. "They have gone mad. Completely crazy with bonkers on top."

"Yeah..." Jazz tapped his index finger against his lips. "So innocent?"

"Innocent", confirmed Prowl.

They both smiled and looked at the judge.

Lord High Judge Tyrest was quiet for a moment, marking it down, then he asked the prosecution: "Are these sectors in the charges?"

The lawyers, that had already in near panic looked through all and everything, shook their helmets. "Sector T-J2-23423 is missing."

"I see." Lord Tyrest sighed. "Please add this to the charges after this hearing."

And the list continued.

"That was unusual", commented Rook neutrally. "It seems they only want to be blamed for specific crimes."

"Something despite the amount of depravity must tie the crimes together," concluded Blaster, his curiosity piqued. This could be the key to understanding this trial. "The question is: just what?"

"Maybe they just want to be blamed for crimes they committed." The words seemed cold, but Rook's voice vibrated with barely contained excitement. The glimmer had turned into a fervency. "Or maybe it's something else..." A sharp smile. "I will find out."

In this, Blaster trusted Rook fully.


	5. Ravage

Thanks to Starfire201 for her betawork.

* * *

Chapter 5: Ravage

There were many photos on the wall. Artistically arranged to form a harmonious picture, each held a unique tale.

He knew some of these stories. The three mechs grinning in front of a ship - a tragedy with only one survivor. A bit down and to the left, the blue and yellow survivor was looking at something organic - the discovery of another sentient and intelligent organic race. Even further to the left was again the same mech, this time arm in arm with another mech, obviously in love - the non-existent data on the other mech was more than enough to date this photo into the Golden Age and to know that the unnamed lover didn't survive the following war.

He stretched out on the long couch, enjoying its softness. Lying on the back, he put his hands above his head, tried to touch the small pillow with his toes and let his dark frame shimmer in the low lighting. If someone had watched him, they would've called him sensual - but he was alone and so it was only pure enjoyment of himself and the couch.

Finding a perfect position, he turned his red optics back to the wall. The wall was a treasure chest for him, full of data and precious moments that let him sneak into another one's life. The apartment around him was bland in comparison, even though its tasteful furniture also whispered of a strong and decisive character. Yet, nothing compared to this wall.

Between the photos of the mech hang ones without any living beings at all. They were just of places with straight lines and light and shadow. They, too, had their tales, but they also highlighted what their owner thought of as beautiful. His optics kept lingering on those pictures, committing them to his own collection of photos, while his data banks provided names and dates.

Suddenly, a noise disturbed the peace. He growled as his silence became fragile - and shattered as fast footsteps of a heavy mech neared through the hallway of the apartment. He was hit by fleeting thoughts and waves of anger.

A yellow and dark-blue mech appeared in the doorway of the living room, a blaster in his hand, blue visor blazing in anger. In reality, he was a lot more impressive than in his photos, where he was always smiling, thought Ravage neutrally. The mech stopped dead the moment he discovered him lounging on the couch.

"Ravage!" the mech snarled and subspaced the gun. "When I requested a meeting with you, I expected you to come to the HQ or maybe that you would suggest a cafe. Not that you would break into my own apartment and sent me a message with the glyphs 'I'm waiting'!"

Ravage smiled coolly. Not bothering to stand up, or to even sit up, he shrugged.

_Did you really think I would walk through the public to meet you, Nightbeat?_

Nightbeat flinched. As they all did, when they heard Ravage's thoughts in their own processors for the first time. Then usually came the spike of fear, covered by quick, hot anger and a strong dislike towards Ravage. Having watched the cycle a hundred of times, it was no wonder he avoided the public – and so far meeting any Enforcer personally.

"I thought you would at least warn me before entering - or wait for me!" Nightbeat snapped annoyed.

Ravage blinked, surprised. No fear, no anger, no comment at all about the telepathic answer. Remarkable. Had Nightbeat known before about Ravage's habit not to speak out loud or was he just that adaptable? He couldn't resist and gently touched the mind of the Enforcer. So many thoughts, so much curiosity and tiredness, but not a single negative code line about Ravage's abilities. The telepath's smile from before became a bit warmer.

Meanwhile, Nightbeat had crossed the room towards the several energon dispensers in the corner and selected a few. "Have you already helped yourself, too?" he asked with what could've been further annoyance, but the feel of his mind said he had already calmed.

_No._

Breaking and entering was one thing in Ravage's mind. A younglinghood of war had taught him that to steal energon, something that could mean the other bot would starve, was another thing entirely.

Nightbeat nodded. "Well then, do you want some? I have high-grade, low-grade, sweet, acidic and bitter."

_Sweet... please._

"As you wish." Nightbeat skillfully mixed their energon, then he sat down on the couch next to Ravage's pedes, wordlessly handing his guest the cube.

He nodded in thanks, taking a cautious sip, carefully checking the energon with special sensors. No poison. Not that he expected it here, but old habits died hard, and for some they died harder.

"I'm surprised that you came at all," Nightbeat finally said, watching Ravage from the corner of his visor. "You're not exactly famous for heeding requests such as this."

That was true enough. Ravage was as anti-social as Soundwave, which was saying it all. It was less of a choice though, than a result of being a telepath.

_I always try to help the Enforcers,_ Ravage defended himself.

The Enforcer and special detective laughed softly. "Yes. But we're not fool enough to believe you tell us everything. Or sometimes anything at all."

Also true. Ravage wondered how much Nightbeat had researched him. _I tell you as much as you need to know, _he explained._ And as a telepath I know many things that are better left forgotten._

Things he often wished to forget himself.

Nightbeat gave him a measuring look and for an exciting moment his thoughts splintered into a thousand possibilities - before he nodded. "You're probably right." He took a deep gulp of his cube. "So, why did you come at all? This is a big enough mess without adding you to it."

It wasn't meant as an insult. Instead, Nightbeat's feelings were of amusement, weariness and a faint sarcastic humour. It strangely appealed to the former Decepticon and Ravage found himself relaxing more.

_Your request came with very good references,_ he admitted.

Nightbeat's helmet snapped towards him. Nervousness, no, apprehension flared. "References? This was an unofficial request. No one should've known..."

Ravage held up a hand, and with one graceful move, sat up. He still had to look up a bit to meet the others visor as he assured him: _No one does know of this meeting._

The wave of feelings calmed. "Then how..."

There weren't many mechs on Cybertron whose opinion could influence him. Soundwave was one, his siblings sometimes the others. And then there was...

_Howlback always speaks highly of you, _Ravage said.

Nightbeat stared in utter surprise at his guest. "Howlback," he repeated flatly. "I don't know what is harder to believe - that you two are friends or that she speaks positively of anyone, least of all me."

His thoughts backed the words and Ravage found himself amused. _Howlback and I have been friends for a long time. Once, we shared a rather uncommon frame. _

"Ah, yes, I remember," said Nightbeat. "You both were four-legged cassetticons, right?"

_Yes._

It was just a frameclass to Nightbeat, nothing more. The sharp relief of his was a bit startling. Many had compared Ravage to drones or, even more degrading, organics over the vorns. Many were still doing it to other cassettes, despite Soundwave's campaigns of social equality.

Thanks to his talents, Ravage had always been far too aware of those thoughts and it had not helped that he was holding the dubious honour of being the cassette that had needed the longest time to reach a normal mechframe ever. Even during the Golden Age he had been one of the slowest maturing cassettes, with trouble to control his inherited talent of telepathy. Within the war he had stopped maturing at all as his emotional centre was busy not to be crushed beneath dark thoughts and violent emotions.

Worse, he had just been mature enough to see the problems it caused Soundwave to keep them all fuelled and well. But too dependent to upgrade and be his own mech, he had resigned to his fate of a telepathic mech-animal, that would never be more. And then, he had met Howlback.

Proud Howlback, who refused to give up even as her creator and tape deck died. Strong Howlback, who carved her way through the ranks of the Decepticons alone. Stubborn Howlback, who refused his help and to trust him for vorns. She showed him that it was Ravage's decision alone if he was a burden or not.

Nightbeat grinned. "So, are you two more than friends?"

_Never, _was Ravage sharp answer, which made Nightbeat wince.

"Wow, emotional theme for you." Nightbeat raised his hands. "No need to say more. I can go without a headache this orn - work is bad enough at the moment!"

Ravage nodded, forcing himself to be calm again. _About your work... I know you're the lead detective in the case of Prowl and Jazz. Am I right to assume that you called me because of them?_

Anything playful left the Enforcer immediately. "Yes," he answered tiredly. "You were on different sides of the war, but I suspect that you did investigate many of the incidences because they involved Decepticon victims. Also, surely you spied on them and tried to find out anything important..." He sighed. "In short, I want to know what you did notice or heard about regarding them."

Ravage tilted his head. _You already have all this information. Soundwave sent you the files decaorns ago._

"He did," confirmed Nightbeat. "And as far as our databanks tell us, his statements are all true." He stood up and brought his empty cube back to the energon dispenser. "There are just a few small details that made me look closer."

Ravage followed his every movement, admiring the sudden sureness of them. _Those details would be?_

He threw the cube into the trash and turned, crossing his arms. "First, Soundwave's statement should have included a few things that he didn't put into the records. Your creator is famous for his secretiveness, I can't imagine him updating thousand of files with nothing but the truth."

The former cassetticon found himself nodding. Everyone who had ever met Soundwave would know that the mech chose his words and information carefully. Just as Ravage did.

"Second," continued Nightbeat. "There are the witnesses. Yes, there are dozens, but none of them really saw them pull the trigger. But even more telling is the small fact that some of the mechs who should be the prime witnesses are missing. Most important, their adoptive sparkling Bluestreak hasn't been found so far. And believe me, we've searched for him."

Nightbeat's thoughts were elegant, complex and strangely captivating. Again, Ravage found himself nodding.

_Maybe Bluestreak deactivated,_ he said, knowing the Praxian hadn't. During Starscream's reign they had been partners, maybe even friends, taking orders from only three mechs. He was sure that he would've been invited to the melting of him.

"In peace time? Without Prowl or Jazz saying anything?" Nightbeat sounded sceptical. "No, I bet Bluestreak has gone underground. There were rumours about problems like high-grade, the wrong crowd of mechs, crimes, but nothing specific because - and that's interesting - the mechs he used to meet mostly have vanished, too."

Ravage smiled, just watching Nightbeat as he talked himself into a rage. It was less about the mechs, than about the information, the puzzle itself.

_How peculiar,_ he commented, just to keep the Enforcer talking.

"I thought so too_._ So I did my job. I started to dig around and I found out that while the proof, the files, the witnesses all look ironclad, it isn't. Some cases are nearly completely circumstantial!"

_Not really, though, _argued Ravage, extending his hand so that his claws rested on the couch. Despite finally upgrading into a mech-frame after Howlback encouraged him, he hadn't found the desire to leave everything behind. _Aequitas would never convict them if it was circumstantial, yet it did in 14 cases so far._

Nightbeat grinned without joy. "Yes, because Aequitas and the judges think that the files we found on Teletraan, the various archives and even in Vector Sigma are all true."

_I guess they aren't, _said Ravage with a smile. It was strange. Rarely had he smiled as often as during this conversation. Maybe it was the exciting topic.

The Enforcer shrugged. "I can't prove anything, yet. But after the war Prowl and Jazz had a very, very high security clearance despite the fact that Starscream ruled. So high, that they could look into and change everything." His gaze fixed his guest. "Am I right?"

It was a piece of information that an interested mech could look up in nearly any history archive, buried between tons of other unimportant data. Ravage nodded, clearly remembering the time when everything had changed and yet so few.

Nightbeat didn't move, but his emotions showed a raw satisfaction for a moment, before he was speaking again: "The thing now is, I wasn't able to find even the slightest hint that they lost this access. They stepped down from titles, from positions, but not once were they officially taken from the lists of authorized mechs to change the files. Funnily enough, their designations are not on a single list anymore, but then in some cases they never were as they maintained those lists." He smiled. "It's a small thing. Really. But I think it might be the key."

Ravage raised optics ridge, faking scepticism. In reality, he was impressed. This mech had come farther than any other of the thousands of mechs trying to figure out Prowl and Jazz's motives.

_What key?_ asked Ravage, but he knew.

"Isn't it obvious? That they had access to and changed the files, until they got the blame for everything. They had vorns to perfect this. Vorns to look up the witnesses, vorns to talk or bribe everyone involved. Maybe they even performed a minor hack on the more stubborn ones." He paused and then shook his head, as the next words sounded bitter: "The rest of us all are now just the actors on their stage."

For a moment, the other one wasn't sure what to say. After the silence between them became awkward he settled on a weak: _You're a good Enforcer, Nightbeat._

The detective didn't take it the wrong way. "Thank you." Then, he walked over, back to Ravage and stopped in front of the smaller mech. "So, are my theories wrong?"

This was dangerous territory. He should say "yes", stand up and walk out through the door. Pit, he should've never came here. But he was and now he felt the desire to tell Nightbeat everything he knew, which wasn't much anyway, just to see the glimmer of excitement in his visor again. Ravage tried to crush the desire ruthlessly.

_You are aware that while my creator has left the secret service, I'm still part of it?_ he asked instead, stalling for time.

"Yes, of course." Nightbeat's visor lightened up and his emotions were amused, but highly alert. "But isn't that even further reason to help me? I admit I know barely more than that, besides that you're one of the most gifted hackers..." He paused. "And now that you're a telepath. Maybe that is connected."

Ravage laughed, he couldn't help himself. _If it were connected, Rumble and Frenzy would hack all and everything they come across._ His light thoughts danced into the processor of Nightbeat. At the curious look of the Enforcer, he explained: _They share a permanent emotional link with each other. It makes them quite gifted on this scale._

"As gifted as you?" asked the Enforcer curiously.

_No._ Ravage looked away, back to the pictures. _No one is as good as I. Even Soundwave is not. He __can only receive thoughts and emotions, while I..._

"You can send them, too."

_Yes._

Nightbeat was quiet for a klick, and Ravage felt the old trepidation he had long ago tucked away inside himself. Mechs feared telepaths. Feared that they knew too much, knew secrets, used them. It was painfully justified, too. As if to prove it, Ravage couldn't resist any more and touched the mind of the Enforcer again, looking for his thoughts. He found them easily. They were just as clear and beautiful as all the others before. But even more stunning was the lack of fear. Instead there was only burning curiosity and the quicksilver speed of a intelligent processor.

"Soundwave's speech pattern is strange, and you do not seem to speak at all," said Nightbeat softly. "Is that the price?"

_Yes. _

It was the easy answer, quick and dirty. Maybe true. But it also could be that Ravage during his slow and stopped ageing, just learned to talk using his gift, while his codes for speech withered, until it was too late. For now, the easy answer was enough.

"Nothing is for free, right?" Nightbeat's curiosity died down a bit as his determination made its comeback. "What about my theories?"

Ravage hesitated once again, not understanding where this strange desire to share his knowledge with this mech came from. Had he been too isolated in the last decaorns? He measured Nightbeat, staring at the mech until he twitched nervously.

_I can't tell you much,_ Ravage answered with a soft purr. _My creator, Soundwave doesn't share everything with me._

Nightbeat frowned. "But you know something, right?"

_Yes._ Ravage unfolded himself and rose from the couch, taking a step nearer to Nightbeat who still sat. Their height difference was so great that Ravage was still barely looking down.

_I can tell you this: My creator and Prowl and Jazz rarely saw optic to optic about anything, but when they did... things happened._

"During the war. Right?"

Ravage tilted his head with a smile. _During and after it._

Nightbeat's visor and processor flashed with interest. "And about what things did they see optic to optic?"

Ravage shrugged. _Sparklings. Cybertron. They all wanted to see the next generation to grew up happy and in peace._

A grimace. "That's not a very big similarity. Every Cybertronian shares this!"

The Enforcer truly believed this. Ravage had the sudden astonishing realisation of having found innocence in a former Autobot, who was also an Enforcer. Who investigated the worst crimes and atrocities. Ravage wanted to weep, craving that innocence for himself.

Nightbeat didn't notice, to caught up in analysing every of Ravage's words. "I mean, okay, so that means they did talk to each other about some things, right? Didn't hate each other... that does help actually. What did you mean by things?"

_Things. There is a reason those three were the most feared mechs on Cybertron. _ And he would say no more.

Nightbeat seemed to realise this as he changed the theme. "What else can you tell me?"

He could tell this mech so many things. Of secrets, dark and better left forgotten. But they wouldn't help here, and he refused to destroy any of the past successful plans of his creator or Prowl and Jazz with saying anything too specific. But there was one memory, that had puzzled himself for vorns:

_Several vorns after Starscream's sacrifice and death, Jazz waited for me on one of my rounds around our house. I sought the solace, the quiet. In those orns I was... not good. Mechs thought we had lost protection and targeted us. Especially me, as they thought me a cyberanimal, a telepath, a spy, a traitor..._

Ravage took a deep breath, stopping the word flood. There had been so many reasons why they had targeted and hated him. He had seen those reasons in their processors, seen himself in their thoughts, how ugly, terrifying, monstrous he was. It had broken him more than the slurs and thrown metalrocks had ever done. Nightbeat looked at him in understanding, a hand raised as if to comfort, but so uncertain if the comfort was wanted. The former cassetticon straightened. Nightbeat's hand fell away.

_Jazz stood there in the alley. Alone. First I thought him another attacker, but instead... he offered me a chance. _

He was sure that the Enforcer had heard some of the things which he hadn't mentioned. The fast and brutal fight, the paranoia, the fear when he was on his back with an energy dagger on his neck and a clear view of who he had just attacked. Nightbeat though just raised an optic ridge, focused on the immediate information and not on the potential humiliation of Ravage.

"A chance?" he asked.

_Yes. He said nothing more and I declined. Jazz smiled and walked away._

Nightbeat looked as puzzled as if someone had just told him that he had won the Clown of the Year Award. "That was all?"

_Yes. _

"Strange."

_Very,_ agreed Ravage, remembering how he himself had tried to find meaning in the few sentences exchanged. _But my creator... when I came home, he was already waiting at the door. And when I told him about Jazz, he said nothing. Instead he hugged me and... _

"And?" This was intimate. More than anything else so far. Actually, Ravage suddenly realised he would prefer talking about interfacing in detail than to say the next words: _...and all I could feel from him was relief and love._ "Nothing else? No thoughts to explain it?" Nightbeat sounded hopeful, and he was it, too.

Ravage gave him a look that said 'stupid' more than clearly.

_He's Soundwave._

Nightbeat sighed. "I suppose I can't expect anything else from Soundwave." _And his creation_, his thoughts said, but there was no malice. "Any ideas who might know more?"

Did this mech really expect Ravage to point him into some direction? Yes. Yes, he did. He trusted Ravage of all mechs. The smaller mech stared at him and then shrugged: _You could always ask the company 'Red Security'._

A deep sigh and a shake of the head. "I already did. But between Red Alert and Breakdown the paranoia level at that company is so high that they would only share information after a deep spark merge."

_Which you weren't willing to provide, I guess?_ "

'Course not. Those two might be contagious."

They shared a grin.

It was a pity, though. Red Alert had always been the Autobot with the best idea about Prowl and Jazz's schemes. But then, if the two most paranoid mechs on the planet decided to found a security firm together, absurd paranoia was probably expected. Suddenly, Ravage remembered how those two had met - at a security conference after the war. They both had been in charge of security for the other side, which had been kind of a surprise in Breakdown's case. There had been rumours about orders... rumours that Soundwave hadn't investigated. At that time, Ravage had thought that his creator had just been too busy. Yet maybe...

No. Just no. Now he was becoming paranoid as well. He stepped a bit back from Nightbeat. For a sparkbeat they both awkwardly waited for something, then Ravage forced himself to say:

_I think I told you all I knew. Until... then._

Until probably never. Nightbeat hastily rose from the couch. "Until then," he smiled. "You really were a great help."

He stopped and his thoughts became a chaos of indecision and emotions, then he blurted out: "Maybe I can keep your number to call you?"

Ravage blinked. _Call me?_

Nightbeat's gaze turned to the floor and then to the wall. "Yes... for questions, maybe? We could meet in a café this time. Or I could invite you to an energon in my apartment again...?"

_Again_, thought Ravage amused, and then suddenly realised the words.

And their true meaning. And the honest, tender motivations behind them. Before he could even think about it more, he had smiled and sent his private comm number.

_Of course. Energon sounds good._

Two klicks later, he was on the floor and transformed into his old four-legged mode. He still hadn't managed to convince himself to upgrade all the way - his old altmode was just too comforting and grounding in moments just as these: When his spark spun too fast and his thoughts turned to possibilities and dreams.


End file.
